“Big sis is entirely correct . . .” Maurice piped in. Liza groaned. “This has its origins in African colonialism. The white man’s need to colonize Black space is insatiable. That’s why I see my dating of exclusively white women as reverse colonization. We need to rec—”

“Liza, do you hear that? Maurice is cosigning.” LeDeya stomped her foot. “That should let you know how lame you’re being right now. Why do you never want to have any fun?” LeDeya reached for Liza’s laptop. At sixteen, she had already taken after their mother—all curves, height, big hair, and incredible nosiness. “Momma says those people over there are loaded—I’m talkin’ Red Lobster rich.”

Liza and Janae exchanged looks, but Maurice seemed to reconsider. LeDeya pressed on. “She just wants us to go to this little groundbreaking and be introduced to some people.” LeDeya quickly tapped on Liza’s laptop, then turned it around to show the evite in Liza’s email like a Price Is Right model.

Liza lunged for her computer. “That only shows me you figured out my password again.”

“There was nothing to figure out.” LeDeya easily held the machine above her shorter sister’s head. “It’s always some lame variation of ‘QWERTY123.’ ”

“Stop your snooping, Deya.” Granny ambled into the living room from the back room. Her tennis shoes squeaked on the clear plastic runner supposedly protecting the grungy brown carpet. She wore a purple velour tracksuit with a polyester turban and large pearl earrings. She looked like she should pace around a neighborhood mall at all times or possibly tell fortunes in a storefront. “You too fast, girl.” She eyed her youngest granddaughter. “You will not be introduced to any grown men—rich or broke.”

LeDeya bent her head down, and she punched Liza in the arm before plopping herself on the sofa. She opened Liza’s laptop again and began immediately scrolling through Instagram. Granny’s word was like iron. In the ongoing saga between Liza and her mother, Granny was always saving Liza before total catastrophe struck.

“And you oughta listen to Liza every once in a while, Beverly,” Granny continued. “She’s the only one of you with some actual sense. Them people ain’t nothing but vultures. Them fat cats want to know two things: what else they can tear down to make some money, and if we stupid enough to let ’em.”

“Ma,” Bev pleaded, “they’re supposed to be all green and affordable. They have units set aside for the poor. Even Rosa Parks over here can’t deny they’re trying harder than those other guys.”

“Okay, they want some good PR,” Liza replied. “They want some poor Black people huddled around the microphone being thankful to their white saviors who are going to revitalize the community. And when they say ‘revitalize,’ they mean to take all the black and brown out of the décor,” Liza said.